A Fine Line
by dracoredeemed
Summary: Harry despises Malfoy, it's Christmas Eve, and the last thing Harry wants to do is attend a function where Malfoy is the guest of honour. H/D Slash.


**Title:** A Fine Line

**Chapter:** One-Shot

**Rating:** NC-17

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Word count:** 3106

**Summary:** Harry despises the way Draco gets all the attention for being a complete prat.

**A/N(s):** Beta'd by the wonderful Aandune.

**Warnings:** Sexual content, adult language, male-male sex.

**Disclaimer:** This fan fiction is based on the characters, situations, locations and other material created by J K Rowling and subject to copyright held by Bloomsbury Books and others. Its use is in no way intended to infringe copyright holders' rights or trademarks. I do not own any of the source materials or characters, and no money is made from their use in this fan fiction.

~o~o~o~o~

**Christmas Eve 6.45pm.**

Today is possibly the worst day of my life. If I ever thought living with the Dursleys or having to fight Voldemort was hard, I was completely mistaken, because nothing, but nothing, could be worse than this.

"Aren't you ready, yet, Harry?"

"I can't get this bloody tie to work!" I call out. I'm in the bedroom and Ginny suddenly appears in the doorway. She leans against the frame and looks me up and down, which makes me feel uneasy.

She looks gorgeous, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I'd really rather just skip the entire thing, but I've committed, so there's really no way out at this stage. Ginny's wearing this long, slinky dress made of some kind of shimmery, silvery material that changes colour in the light. Her hair is piled on top of her head and she looks radiant. You'd never guess she was one of the Ministry's top Aurors, having solved more cases than almost anyone – even me. Let's just say I wouldn't want to run up against her in a dark alley.

"Here, let me do it."

"Fine." I'm really annoyed at the thing by this point, so I let her tie the tie, and then I follow her out the door to the entrance hall of my flat so we can Apparate to the venue. I'm pretty much convinced the whole evening is going to be excruciating, so I am not in a good mood at all. As I look at the clock on the mantle, I wonder what I ever did to deserve such a fate. I know I should be grateful – Ginny is beautiful and clever, I am Head Auror, and this is what my life was meant to be. Only I'm not grateful at all. Suddenly, I want to be anywhere else – _be anything else._ A bloody dustman must have a better life than this.

Ginny takes my arm and within moments we are Disapparating into the Ministry foyer along with hundreds of other guests. The foyer is decorated for the occasion with Christmas lights and holly and magical baubles that circle the air above us, creating twinkling patterns of light. It's really quite spectacular.

"Oh, how perfect." Ginny looks mesmerised by it all. "Don't you love Christmas, Harry?"

I'm about to say something suitably agreeable when a flash of blond catches my eye and I turn.

"Yes, Christmas is lovely," I manage to grate out between clenched teeth. Malfoy is the guest of honour and he's strutting around, really lapping up the attention. What a total git. He's wearing the most expensive formal robes I've ever seen – probably from the continent – and he has this air about him, as if he owns the world – which he probably almost does. And his tie is perfect.

He is perfect. Perfect bloody Malfoy with his perfect bloody life. Not that I'm jealous or anything. I don't give a rat's about that stuff.

It never really bothers me what people choose to do with their lives, you know? I don't really care if they choose to teach school, trade shares, work the streets, or raise a dozen kids. Honestly, as long as it's not hurting anyone else, I couldn't give a flying fuck what someone does with their time. I mean, some people get all hoity-toity about going to the 'right' schools and getting on the 'right' career path. But to me, it's not about what you do, it's how you do it. Take the Queen, for example. Or Victoria Beckham. They spend half their lives being all rich and famous, and even though they supposedly do good works and such, in the end they're just a waste of space. Okay, I know they're Muggles. And not that I'm against stopping poverty or whatever, but do it because you care, not because you're expected to or because you're rich enough to. I'd rather some rich bloke go out and really enjoy spending his money than pretend he gives a shit about the world when he clearly doesn't.

Which is why I am confused about Malfoy. I really hate him. Always have - smarmy little bastard. Malfoy has grated against my every last nerve from the moment I first met him. Trouble is, the hating makes no sense. He's rich, good-looking, and does what he likes – he's like the prototype for keeping it real. He doesn't bother to even pretend he cares about anyone, and, logically, I should admire him for that. But I don't. I hate his guts. With a passion that could rival Hitler's hatred of all that is non-Aryan. I'm talking true and honest loathing, here; the kind of loathing that actually makes you understand what the word 'seethe' really means. I seethe with loathing whenever I see him.

So, you'll understand how I am feeling when I tell you that I have to go to this formal Ministry dinner where he is the guest of honour. Apparently he negotiated some amazing trade agreement with the Wizarding European Union that is going to feed the Ministry coffers for the foreseeable future. So he's a hero.

The bastard.

Add to that the fact that I have to wear formal robes and bring a date and we are pretty much talking about hell on earth here. I hate wearing formal robes. And I loathe dates.

Actually, I take that back. I loathe dates with girls. In other words, hetero dates. Not that I have anything against women – or heteros, for that matter. My parents were straight for Merlin's sake, and I never once held it against them.i I just don't like the whole façade of having to show up at Ministry functions with a pretty bird hanging off my arm. And okay, so Ginny knows I am gay and is a fairly good sport about being my 'date' most of the time. But just once I'd like to forgo all the shite and go stag. I often wonder what will happen when – if – I ever find a nice bloke and settle down. Shacklebolt would rather eat his own bollocks for breakfast than allow me to bring a real partner.

Nope. Never going to happen.

"Oh, Harry, look! There's Ron and Hermione!" Before I can focus in the right direction, Ginny is dragging me off to the bar where apparently my two oldest friends are talking to a bunch of our old classmates.

**Christmas Eve 8.30pm.**

"You're not still going on about this whole gay thing, are you, Harry?" We're sitting at the head table and pulling crackers while we wait for dessert to be served. Hermione has had just enough to drink that she is starting to psychoanalyse me again. She has this thing about me being gay. As in, she thinks I'm just overcompensating for losing my parents at such a young age. Apparently I never got to act out my Oedipal issues and so I am – belatedly – dealing with my aggression by refusing to date women. I've got to give her credit, it's a good theory. I know I've got parenting issues and I know I'm probably sublimating my frustration and inner turmoil by being an Auror. You know how it goes: I want to protect everyone because I was never protected, blah, blah-de blah. So I might have bought her theory were it not for the fact that I like fucking men. I mean, I _really_ like fucking them. And sucking them. And being fucked by them. A lot.

I tell her so, but she just shakes her head. "God, Harry, you are so passive-aggressive. It's as if you have no insight at all." She rolls her eyes then and I switch to my best Hermione-placating voice.

"You're probably right, 'Mione. In fact, I think I may be a sex addict."

She snorts at this. She and I both know I haven't been shagged in about, oh, ten months, two weeks, three days, four hours, twenty minutes and, uh… five seconds. And that was a total disaster. I have a lot of empathy for transgender people – God, imagine the pain of being a man trapped in a woman's body – but it's a bit difficult to get fucked by someone who doesn't (yet) have a penis. Or to fuck someone who is intent on being the top, even absent said penis. Somehow the strap-on just didn't do it for me. I know it should have, but I just couldn't get into it. Maybe it was the breasts – I don't know. It just wasn't what you'd call the best night of my life.

Hermione is cool, though. She gets the irony and gives up the psychoanalysis.

Dessert is chocolate truffle cake and it's to die for. It's like this triple-layer fudge confection soaked in sherry with squishy dark chocolate cream oozing out between the layers, and it really is almost better than sex.

God, I really need to pull.

**Christmas Eve 9.00pm.**

If there is one thing I really hate more than formal speeches, it is formal speeches by people I really hate. In other words, speeches by Malfoy.

"Thank you, Minister, and thank you to everyone for coming tonight. It certainly is a spectacular evening and I hope each and every one of you is enjoying it as much as I am."

I am pretty much gagging by this stage. Malfoy is waxing lyrical about the decorations, the food, the company, whatever - and I would be nearly asleep if I wasn't desperately trying to remember my own speech. Somewhere along the line, I have forgotten to put my notes in my pocket, and now I am more than a little worried that I will forget what I planned to say. I go over the lines in my head, trying to calm myself with the cadence of the words. I've been practicing the bloody speech for weeks now, as only the truly paranoid public speaker does. I could recite it in my sleep, but I still feel uneasy at not having my notes with me. I really hate speaking in front of crowds and have always been afraid that I will lose my nerve and just look stupid.

So, I am a bit disoriented when I hear my name mentioned. I look up in time to see Malfoy staring directly at me. He's still standing and I gather he's just finishing his speech, but I have no idea what he's just said, other than the fact that he mentioned me. Shit.

I think I must have been looking rather bewildered, because Malfoy cocks his head and his smile falters a bit. It's quite a nice smile, surprisingly, quite unlike any expression I've ever seen on his face, and I wonder what the fuck he just said or what I am supposed to say in response. I look around at the other tables and everyone is looking at me expectantly. My stomach lurches. Shit, shit, shit.

I can feel my face paling. Then Ginny nudges me and I look to her in panic.

"Say yes, Harry," she whispers under her breath. "Go on. Tell him you'd be honoured."

I blink rapidly at that. Fuck, what did I miss? I regroup and try to appear nonchalant. After all, how bad could it be? He must have asked me to do the next speech. So I stood slowly and tried to smile back.

"Um, thanks Mal- er, Draco. Thank you very much for those nice words. Of course, I'd be honoured to do so." I stand up straighter and clear my throat, ready to give my speech, and suddenly the room explodes. People are clapping and whistling and whoo-hooing like there's no tomorrow. And I have no idea why.

Malfoy actually grins at me then. He pushes back his chair and steps aside, kind of bowing, as if to say "after you". I have no idea where I am heading, but I manage to push my own chair back and move toward him.

"Er, after you." Two can play this game.

Malfoy nods and moves ahead of me and I follow him up onto the stage, which is almost entirely filled by a huge Christmas tree. It suddenly strikes me as odd that wizards have taken on this Muggle tradition - the tree, the holly, the whole Christian tradition, really. In fact, all that's missing is the manger. It occurs to me that no one ever talks about religion in the wizarding world. Strange that.

Malfoy stops and waits. After about twenty seconds, during which I am wracking my brain, trying to work out what I am supposed to do, he leans forward and whispers, "Go ahead, light the tree."

Oh.

Sighing in relief, I pull out my wand and wave it, and the tree bursts to life with thousands of tiny magical lights. It really is quite breathtaking and I stand back to admire it as the audience once again applauds.

Then Malfoy does something really fucking odd. He walks over and gives me this big bear hug. That in itself is enough to shock the bejesus out of me, but then he leans in close and I can feel his breath against my neck as he whispers again, "You look positively fuckable tonight, Potter. How about you ditch the redhead and meet me out back in about half an hour?"

And then he pinches my arse.

**Christmas Eve 9.37pm.**

Now, no one would call me unadventurous, but I am fairly certain I _don't _want to find out what the fuck Malfoy is up to. He's underhanded at the best of times and I have a bad feeling about it all, so I decide to ignore his little request. Instead, I excuse myself and head for the front of the building so I can have a smoke. Yes, I smoke. Like a frigging chimney, in fact.

It's a cold night, but it's not snowing, and the air is bracing after the stifling ballroom. Everyone is inside drinking and dancing, so I have the street to myself. I take a deep drag of my smoke, lean against the damp bricks, and close my eyes. What the fuck, I can cast a Cleaning Charm later.

"Potter, you stood me up." I open my eyes to see Malfoy leaning against the wall next to me. God, he's a slimy bugger. I didn't even hear him walk up.

"Jump off a cliff, Malfoy." He keeps staring at me, which is a bit unnerving. I shrug. "What did you expect?"

He frowns and his lips go kind of thin, like he's holding back a string of invective, but he doesn't say anything. Eventually, he looks away and puts his hands in his pockets. "Nothing, I suppose." His voice sounds flat.

I take another couple of drags and drop the butt to step on it.

"Look, Potter…."

I roll my eyes, but turn toward him. I suppose I'm interested in hearing what this is about, after all.

"I don't know what it is you have against me. I know we didn't get along at Hogwarts, but, come on, we're adults now."

"Which doesn't give you the right to proposition me."

"True," he concedes. "But let's face it, how many gay wizards do you know? Not many, I'll wager."

Now that's true enough. I only know of two, apart from me and Malfoy, and they are a couple. My only experience has been with Muggles, and it wasn't very satisfactory. Hence the drought. Still, I _hate _Malfoy, so I am not exactly thrilled by the idea of banging the tosser. I tell him as much.

"There's a fine line between love and hate," he says in response.

Also true. Passion is passion, after all, I suppose. I look over to him and his face is in shadow, but I can make out the delicate profile, the full lips, and he has these amazingly silver eyes. Or it might just be the light. He's very good-looking in that poncy, aristocratic way that magazine models are good-looking. He's also tall and surprisingly fit. At least, his shoulders look broad under his robes. I could do worse. Maybe if I just close my eyes and imagine he's someone else.

God. I can't believe I just thought that.

I'm just about to tell him to bugger off once and for all when suddenly he's in my face – I mean really up close. He presses his chest against mine and the feeling makes me inhale sharply. Suddenly my heart is in my mouth. He smells like some kind of fancy cologne and it's intoxicating. I wonder if he's cast a spell on me because, when he leans in and kisses me, I don't pull away. He tastes like champagne and chocolate and really, he's a very, very good kisser. His lips are soft and plump and he knows how to use his tongue to tease the inside of my mouth so it makes me squirm. After a minute or so, I find myself pressing up against him and my arms are around his back. There's a fire in my belly that I haven't felt in months and I am cursing myself because I am more or less reduced to a mushy heap in his arms.

Holy fuck, if this is hate, then bring on the damned war.

**Christmas Day 7.30 am.**

I'm drifting in and out of sleep and I feel so comfortable, I really don't want to move. My body is aching, but in that pleasant post-fucking way that reminds me what a brilliant night we had. I can feel him flush against my back and his erection is pressing against my arse. I'm still sleepy, but my own cock doesn't seem to realise it because it springs to life, regardless. When I move slightly, he kisses the back of my neck.

"Morning…." His hand slides over my hip and my stomach muscles clench as his fingers flutter over them. God, I want him inside me, like, right now. My whole body is on fire and tingling, and if I don't get fucked this instant, I swear I will be consumed by it until I am nothing but a pile of ash. When he touches me, I groan involuntarily. He kisses my neck again and ruts against my arse. God, it feels brilliant.

"I still hate you, you know." I'm almost breathless, but he hears me anyway, and laughs softly.

"Let's explore that fine line once again, shall we?"

And we do.

_Fin_

i This line is unashamedly stolen from the illustrious C Dumbledore.


End file.
